


Chosen

by Inell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Dark, Explicit Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-30
Updated: 2006-01-30
Packaged: 2018-10-26 08:41:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10783365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inell/pseuds/Inell
Summary: Hermione is his chosen





	Chosen

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

“You need not be scared, my child. It will only hurt briefly and then there will be pleasure.”  
  
  
Hermione stared at the image in the mirror, no longer recognizing the person she had become. It had been seven months since Harry had been killed in the streets of Diagon Alley. Seven months, eight days, and several hours if she were to be exact. It had been little surprise when the Order began to fall in the following six weeks. Without Harry, their efforts were futile. He was the only person who could have defeated Voldemort so their hope had ended with his death.  
  
  
There were times in those weeks she had blamed him, hatred consuming her when she thought of her fallen best friend. Ron, Remus, Susan, Charlie, Fred, Seamus, Kingsley, and so many others had died in the year after they left Hogwarts, died trying to save the world from Voldemort’s control. And Harry had died because he’d grown tired of hiding, insisting that he could sneak into Diagon Alley to have a drink at a pub without being caught. It had been one of the few selfish acts in his life and it had led to his death.  
  
  
With their savior gone, the remaining Order members were easy prey. One after the other, they were caught, tortured, and killed. A few changed sides, betraying their friends and seeking refuge by providing vital information to Voldemort’s supporters. She’d been one of the last to be caught, managing to hide and survive for nearly two months after watching Harry’s body fall in the street.  
  
  
Being not only the best friend of the Boy Who Died, as he was so smugly referred to now, but also a Muggleborn, she hadn’t anticipated living through the night. But the days had turned into weeks and after a month, she received an unexpected visitor to her cell. That was when it had begun. Mind games, an ability to use the mental skills she possessed as she tried to battle Voldemort in the only way she had left. In the end, he won yet again.  
  
  
“There. All done. You look quite lovely, dear,” a calm voice spoke from behind her.  
  
  
There were ribbons in her hair. That was the first thing Hermione noticed when she drifted back from her thoughts. Her unruly curls were neatly arranged, ribbons woven throughout the thick brown locks. She had a memory of her mum fixing her hair for a holiday celebration, red and green ribbons falling around her face. Her mum was dead now, like the rest of them. She was not preparing to attend to a holiday party with friends and relatives. All of her friends and family were gone now. She was gone. Only fragments of the girl she had been remained within this person she had become.  
  
  
“This is where it will be,” a second voice interrupted her thoughts. Edgy and restless in tone, much like the woman currently tracing a slender finger along her arm. Hermione turned her head slightly, finding dark eyes that were becoming familiar. “When he claims you, there will be such pain, my lovely. You will scream so loudly as he makes you his, your blood spilling as he marks you, your tears will smell so sweet.”  
  
  
“Bellatrix, enough,” the voice behind her snapped, cool fingers brushing against her cheek. She looked away from Bellatrix, finding pale blue eyes studying her carefully. “Our Lord does not want us to upset his chosen.”  
  
  
Chosen. Yes, that was what they had called her since he had made his intentions known. He did not love, the word foreign to him and unknown, but he coveted, craved, needed, desired. And she, the Muggleborn witch who would gladly have sacrificed her own life to save any of her fallen friends, was his chosen. She had been given a choice, of course. Force was not his approach to such matters. Instead he had taken away everything, everyone, leaving her completely alone, slowly breaking down her defenses, seducing her. She could die or she could give herself to him. By the time he made the offer, the choice only caused the slightest guilt as she accepted his dark proposal.  
  
  
“You are a strong young woman,” the blonde said softly, arranging the ribbons so they fell around her face, the ends brushing against her bare breasts as she was prepared for the ceremony. Narcissa Malfoy leaned forward, her eyes not leaving Hermione’s as she spoke. “Your blood is tainted but our Lord has seen something in you, has chosen you to be his. There is no room for memories if you wish to survive. Think only of now and the future. _You_ made your choice, Miss Granger.”  
  
  
“There are some who do not see it.” Bellatrix moved behind her, warm hands drifting down her neck, brushing against her breasts, breath on her ear. “They look at you and see a Mudblood whore, spreading her legs to our Lord to save herself. They will soon see what we have seen. There is darkness in you, my sweet. Dark power that is so tantalizing and enticing. Our Lord saw it even we did not. You will show them tonight who you really are, why our Lord has chosen you as his, and they will bow before you, my beauty. There will be such delicious pain and you will writhe before our Lord, begging him to make you his, accepting him without hesitation. And you will rise when he is finished and they will finally see what we see. You will be our Lady, ruling by his side.”  
  
  
Hermione felt the long fingers slide out of her, juices dripping down her upper thighs as she stood. Never looking away from the image in the mirror, she felt warm hands continue to move along her body, preparing her for Voldemort. There was knowledge in the dark eyes, seeming to _know_ she needed the touch, the caress, the arousal before the ceremony began. Cool hands touched her back as Narcissa slid the thick material of the robe onto her slender frame. It was left open, the folds falling across her breasts, the brown curls between her legs visible, her sex wet and glistening in the soft candle light.  
  
  
Narcissa smoothed the lines of the robe, letting the ribbons coil around the visible curve of her breast. Their eyes met in the mirror and Hermione straightened her shoulders, raising her head as she ignored the voices of the past and focused on her present and future. Bellatrix moved to her other side, both of the former Blacks standing behind her as she calmly said, “I am ready for my Lord.”


End file.
